Come Over
by RochelleRene
Summary: House and Cuddy unexpectedly find themselves hanging out regularly on Friday evenings.


**Just a little sexy one-shot idea I've been toying with for a while. Probably early seasons, pre-Rachel, as I make no attempt to address Cuddy having a child. LOL. Hope you enjoy it!**

**[H] [H] [H]**

Whether it concerned professional matters or matters of the heart, there was nothing "easygoing" about House and Cuddy. Their relationship was one of strategy; of thoughtful maneuvering; of anticipating the moves of the opponent. There was a constant hum of tension that was nerve-wracking, distracting, and exhilarating.

Therefore, regular Friday night "dates" spent watching television and getting buzzed on House's couch were not what either of them had anticipated. It was as if the chess pieces had been picked up and moved onto a Scrabble board. Things were familiar enough to give them each the illusion of familiarity, but in this different context, nothing worked the same way.

It started one snowy winter evening when House and Cuddy found themselves heading toward the hospital doors at the exact same moment. His up-and-down leer was the usual opener and her arched eyebrow was volleyed back with the precision of people who could play this sport in their sleep. They were Olympians at a high school scrimmage.

"Pretty cold and nasty out there," House commented against the glass. "Kinda makes me wanna stay warm in here… despite the smell of blood and antiseptic." He knew insulting her hospital was the equivalent of insulting her home, so he felt a little triumphant twinge for getting the first barb in.

"That's what he said," Cuddy replied coolly. House bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely.

"Got big plans this weekend? Blind date? You know, considering your assets and weaknesses I actually think you should go on more deaf dates."

Cuddy glared at him. "Thanks for your concern about my love life. I'm managing, though."

"So you say," he countered, "but the little Asian girls who can't make the batteries fast enough would beg to differ."

"I'm guessing there are probably some Asian girls who would rather not assist with your love life either," she snarked.

"I'm partial to redheads."

"You're partial to '_will accept Visa_.'"

House smiled and felt no impulse to walk out. But he knew he had to soon, lest he let her onto that said lack of impulse. "All this shop talk has got me feeling antsy, so…" He pushed open the door and began trudging into the wall of frigid air. He heard Cuddy's clicky little steps behind him. At the fork where they customarily parted he paused and turned back to her.

"My redhead called in sick tonight," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as fast as they had tumbled into is mind. Foolish, foolish man. This was a rookie mistake. "If you're letting the blind community be tonight, you wanna come help me drink my beer?"

Cuddy paused mid-click. This was most unexpected. She needed to stall for time to think. "You drink beer with your prostitutes?"

House smiled, fully aware of the gears turning in her head and now rather pleased with himself for throwing an unexpected game-changer out there… that is, if he could manage to see the play through. "_I_ do. I don't give _them_ any… but they're sure things." He winked at her.

Cuddy's smile faltered. They were so undefined, she couldn't find a mental flow chart for how to handle this invitation… if it even was an authentic invitation. They weren't just an employer-employee relationship, nor were they exactly colleagues. But they weren't friends. Certainly not. Were they? She decided to err on the side of the work relationship. "Thanks, House, but… I'm… just… I'm not sure that would be all that… you know… professional."

House nodded solemnly. "Maybe you're right. Wouldn't want anything to tarnish your push-up bra and stilettos reputation." He turned back and started walking again, trying to assess victory in this battle. She'd turned him down, true, but he'd had the last word and she was the one left stuttering on the sidewalk. He mentally gave himself a point and ignored it when he heard her call out "Thanks, though," for fear of a rematch.

**[H] [H] [H]**

As such, House was unprepared and moving from buzzed to drunk when he heard the knock on his door later that night. It was quiet and hesitant at first, so he assumed someone just had the wrong apartment, but then it returned with enough persistence and authority to drag him up from his half-slumped, half asleep position in front of the television.

He almost didn't recognize her at first, in jeans and a sweatshirt, her brown curls pulled back into a full bouncy ponytail. For a split second he still attributed it to an apartment mix-up. But the smirk and jutting chin snapped him back to reality.

"Cuddy," was all he could articulate initially.

"I just thought… you know… screw professionalism. You're bored. I'm bored. Let's strap some stilettos on the night." He looked down at her feet, clad in tennis shoes and thick socks. "Metaphorically," she laughed, following his gaze.

"Um… uh…" Now House was stammering, in his own doorway no less. "I'm just not sure if we're… on the same page… metaphorically," he explained.

"Oh, relax," she said, pushing past him. "I was going to drink and watch TV at my house, so I just thought I'd do it here instead and have fun simultaneously mocking you." She dropped onto his couch, at the end that was far opposite from the one he had clearly been nestled in.

"Simultaneous on the first date," House countered, getting his bearings back. "That's a lot of pressure."

"Not a date, House," she clarified, staring at the television as if the reality show he'd paused on were captivating her.

"Whatever you say, boss," he replied. He closed the door and went into the kitchen. "You want a beer?"

"Sure," she replied in a way that told him she'd actually practiced her response to the anticipated question. It was overly-casual, without the usual Cuddy pause for assessment.

He grabbed two more bottles and made his way back to the couch, settling back into his warm spot. Instead of reaching any part of his body toward her, he leaned forward and set her beer on the coffee table. "Thanks," she said, for both the beverage and the platonic gesture.

Truth be told, the ever-present sexual tension between the two of them was a nice spice sprinkled into the work day, but it was truly overpowering when it came to any possibility of a friendship. They were both incredibly smart doctors, who worked together, shared similar sarcastic senses of humor, and had such insane schedules and particular quirks that they weren't exactly swimming in buddies. They had had something bordering on a friendship years ago in school, and it would make perfect sense for them to find themselves hanging out on a random Friday night when neither of them had anything to do but feel lonely. But they had had to fumble their way to this moment because of the risk of sex. Sex that would decimate their professionalism. Sex that would complicate their dynamic. Sex that would legitimate their feelings.

But once in place, pressed against opposite armrests and occupied by the flickering light box, things got surprisingly easy. They were pretty skilled by now at handling the elephant in the room, so much so that they regarded it no more than they would a house cat.

"I thought you wore skirts all the time because they didn't make pants that could contain your ass," House would comment.

"I special order them," Cuddy would toss back. "I thought you knew you could special order things for your ass."

And so it went, the same game on a different board. And they liked it enough that it continued. Not every week, but most Fridays, they found themselves on House's couch watching random television. With Cuddy protesting his Real Housewives drivel and House refusing to stomach a chick flick, they usually settled on an old black-and-white, trying to beat each other to the punch on all the famous lines. It got so some weeks, she didn't even go home to change, but brought a gym bag of casual clothes to House's apartment and changed in his bathroom while he listened to the rustle of fabric and tried to discern what was and wasn't exposed at that very moment. But they never touched, or even stood too close together. Cuddy's spot remained a little divit in the cushion three feet away from his.

They would drink and laugh and occasionally reminisce about an event or a place in their past. Cuddy would cut herself off around ten o'clock and be out the door around midnight, leaving House to get himself off while the smell of her still lingered in the air, before falling asleep with a small smile on his face.

It was fun. It was comfortable. It was easy.

But like a cable bridge, their construction was dependent on the tension. Fun, comfortable, and easy allowed too much slack, too many spaces for the elephant to fit through.

One night, Cuddy had gotten up to go pee and House went to the kitchen to grab a couple more drinks. He hadn't heard her tiny socked footsteps return down the hall and she rounded the corner into the kitchen just as he was exiting and they bumped into each other rom-com style. He looked down at her with a half-grin, a snarky comment about how she needed to watch where she was going on the tip of his tongue, but the pout of her bottom lip and the tiny dark veil of lashes that lifted from her eyes when she looked up at him left him unexpectedly stunned. He'd seen her thousands of times, usually more dolled up and manicured even. But at work, his sense of her was clouded over by the delicious stress of thinking up what to say or assessing the meaning of her facial expression.

Here – all loose and tipsy and content – he'd been caught unaware in the face of her beauty and all he wanted to do was taste that inch of lip.

So he did.

There were four delightful seconds of pure physical sensation before their brains caught up with their bodies and Cuddy pulled away. She was reeling, not only from the physical step backwards she had forced herself to take, but from the psychological memory of his stubble against her skin that she had forced herself to ignore.

"Sorry!" House blurted out. "I'm sorry, Cuddy. I… I just lost my head for a second." _Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave, _he screamed in his mind.

Cuddy made a face like it was no big deal, ridiculous for him to be apologizing. "No, no. It's okay. It's… late. We're… you know… we've been drinking. It's… late."

"It's not that late." _Don't leave._

"Yeah."

They assessed each other. Funny, they spent so much time trying to figure out what the other one was feeling, their own feelings were usually an afterthought.

"I should go," she said feebly.

_Noooooooo! _"You don't have to go."

"It's weird," she said.

"It isn't. We're good at pretending kisses never happened." He had meant to make light of it, but instead just filled the room with more longing. The elephant had grown fangs and would not be ignored.

Cuddy exhaled in an inscrutable little puff and grabbed her coat and purse. House was trying to clear his head of alcohol and the distracting thought of kissing her again to try to smooth this over. "Cuddy, you're drunk. You can't drive home yet."

"I'll call a cab," she said. She began walking to the door and he followed her. "And wait in the snow for it?" he pestered. Cuddy turned on her heel to face him.

"House. It's fine. We're fine. I just… I should go home. It's too much for one night." She patted his arm reassuringly and headed down the stairs.

He watched her go, feeling feeble and regretful and still annoyingly distracted by the tingle on his lips where they had met hers. He stared into the empty hallway for a minute, then closed the door and sat back down on the couch, but couldn't get comfortable, his body tense with sexual and psychological pressure. He couldn't even get himself off… because her scent was still in the air.

**[H] [H] [H]**

He'd been right in a way. Work went surprisingly easy. They were good at ignoring what needed to be ignored. So the week passed with relative ease. But Friday evening rolled around and House didn't know what to expect. As he was walking out for the day, he stopped outside the outer doors to her office suite. Cuddy was hunched over some papers on her desk, looking absorbed.

That's when he became conscious of the Scrabble board. He debated going in with some snarky comments. He debated leaving without a word. And normally he'd know what to do. But normally it would be about flirtation or mild retaliation for the week's events. Normally it wouldn't be about sex. Not about _actual_ sex. Or love, for that matter.

He watched her, lost in the realization that they were playing a new game, when she looked up, seeing him through the spaces in the blinds. She met his eyes and he offered a half-smile. He jerked his thumb in a gesture communicating his intent to leave now. She nodded, looked at her watch, then shrugged and made a gesture to the pile on her desk. He nodded and gave her a small wave, then left.

House spent the evening pretending to watch TV but actually listening to the noises outside his apartment. Car doors slamming or the squeak of the door downstairs would distract him with the promise of Cuddy. Footfalls on the stairs would make the hairs on his neck stand on end. But she didn't come that night.

He was more disappointed than he thought he'd be. He'd told himself if she didn't feel comfortable coming over anymore, it was her loss. He'd just go back to the usual activities. He'd watch in his underwear more, even, or read when there was nothing on that interested him.

But that empty space at the end of the couch was so… empty. He didn't miss the cat-and-mouse of trying to sleep with someone because he honestly wasn't convinced he'd get to sleep with her. He missed her running commentary on the worst of his favorite shows. He missed her snorty laugh at funny parts. He missed the way she would mouth the words to her favorite parts of old movies and take long swigs of beer when there was a part that made her tear up.

He realized he didn't want to fuck her. He just wanted to be with her… Though fucking could be nice. Who was he kidding, fucking would be incredible. Dammit. This is what got him in this jam in the first place.

He muddled through the weekend and returned to the hospital Monday, running smack into her on his way in at eleven o'clock. "Just in time to check your email before a lunch break!" she chastised, looking at her watch.

"Yeah. Well, you know how it is. All that heavy traffic ran over my alarm clock and then I couldn't find my keys because my dog ate them." He made sure to keep walking.

"I thought that dog died," she retorted. "Isn't that why you were late last week?" She glared at him. He smirked at her as he turned in the elevator, glad to be back on familiar footing. But just as the doors were closing she called, "And sorry. Had a lot of work." He shrugged, all he could think to do before her image was replaced by the metal doors.

**[H] [H] [H]**

Okay, so she had had a lot of work. He could buy that. But the next week her sister had a birthday dinner. And the next week she felt like she was coming down with something. "Come on, Cuddy, if it's over that's fine," he told her. "Just tell me…so… you know, so I can start having my red light special again."

She smirked at him, knowing even more certainly after her evenings there that he was at least ninety percent talk with respect to the prostitutes. "Oh, sorry. I totally forgot about your busy hooker schedule."

"A guy's gotta plan," he whined.

She smiled. "Look, House. It's just, probably not a good idea."

"That's what you said the first time. And then it was."

"Until it wasn't."

He conceded, nodding a little and looking at the floor. "Yeah."

"We're busy. We're tired. We don't have it in us to hit the town on Friday nights. So it made sense. But… we're… us…so it doesn't make sense. It will get… hard."

He met her eyes. He recognized the same familiar pull that had caused him to bend his face to hers just a month earlier, but they were back on a chess board now. "That's what she said," he replied. He waited for her eyeroll and smirk before walking away.

**[H] [H] [H]**

He tried inviting Wilson over on Fridays to distract him from… well, from missing her. It was alright. Wilson was smart, funny, and wise enough to House's ways to challenge him. House knew he was a good friend because hanging out with him was pretty much as enjoyable as being alone. But he definitely didn't look as cute in a sweatshirt and jeans… and hanging out with Cuddy was _better_ than being alone.

One night Wilson couldn't make it – some recovery party for a patient – and House felt a tiny pulse of panic grow inside of him as the afternoon wore on and the evening loomed in front of him. He felt pissed off. He was mad at himself for being dumb enough to have kissed her, and he was mad at her for being dumb enough to let it ruin a good thing.

He was walking through the lobby to the doors at the end of the day and she was standing at the nurses' station, methodically signing several pages of a thick document. She looked up and met his eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something – her lips kept parting and she leaned toward him a little – but nothing came out. So he said something.

"Have a nice weekend, Dr. Cuddy."

She smiled a little. "You too, House."

And that was supposed to be the end of it, but House was home and distracted. He kept changing channels and getting up to pace around for a beer, a book, a blanket. He was three drinks in and still couldn't stop thinking about her. He kept wondering what she was doing and, more to the point, why the hell she was doing it. He wondered if they might ever get over that kiss. He wondered if he wanted to get over that kiss.

He was so strung out for her, he finally picked up his phone and called her.

"Hi," she said when she answered, sounding surprised.

"Just come over," he barked, more harshly than he'd intended. He softened his tone, then. "Just… Don't let one stupid kiss wreck a good thing. We're animals, especially men. It was bound to happen mixing alcohol and nighttime, but… it won't happen again," he promised. He listened to the silence all around him as he waited for her to respond. He heard his kitchen faucet dripping, the door to the building creek open, a couple people outside shouting at each other.

"House, what worries me is-"

"Everything worries you, Cuddy!" he interrupted. "You think too much. Just don't try to fix this or fix me or think you have to come over every week. Just tonight. Just come over tonight." He was bargaining with her. He heard a knock on his door and was way more annoyed than usual with the interruption. "Shit. Hold on. Don't hang up."

He opened the door with a scowl on his face, ready to shoo away the unsuspecting visitor. But the visitor was Cuddy, wearing yoga pants and snow boots, her phone to her ear and wet curls plastered against her face. She smiled at him briefly then sucked her lips in. House's whole body relaxed and he smiled widely. "Scram, punk" he said "I'm trying to convince this chick to come over."

Cuddy laughed and House opened the door wider and made a sweeping motion with his arm, beckoning her in. She entered and wiped her feet, then kicked off her boots. The bottoms of her pants were wet from the snow. She shrugged off her puffy winter coat and dropped it on a chair as she walked to the fridge. He watched her and knew she was trying to act nonchalant, to make up for it not feeling casual yet.

"What are we watching?" she asked as she padded to her spot on the couch. Something about her slipping into her spot calmed him, like a puzzle piece slipping into a space that joins two large clusters.

"Mad Max," he replied. She made a face. "It's a classic," he defended. "When this movie came out, people in the theaters were passing out because they had never seen anything so violent."

"That's your definition of a classic?"

"Loss of consciousness is sometimes a sign of a good time," he replied, walking to the fridge himself now.

"That's what he said," she lobbed at his back. He smiled into the fridge, happy they were quickly finding their footing. "This doesn't look too violent," she added with a chuckle as he came back to the couch. She was referring to an overly-dramatic scene in which Mel Gibson's wife was playing a saxophone in her underwear.

"Yeah, I have a theory about this scene."

"I'm shocked."

"He's just returned home after being gone for a long time, right? But it's an Australian film. So I'm thinking someone was saying, 'We need a really hot sex scene here,' but with the Aussie accent is sounded like 'really hot _sax_ scene.' You know?" Cuddy started cracking up. "And the others are like, 'A sax scene? Are you sure?' And he responds, 'Yeah, yeah, mate. Nothing vulgar. Just show her in her underwear, but lots and lots of sax!'" Cuddy was crying with laughter and House was very pleased with himself.

They watched the movie for ten minutes or so until Cuddy proclaimed, "I hate this movie."

"It's Mel Gibson! I thought women swoon over Mel Gibson." Cuddy wrinkled her nose and took the remote from him, began scanning through the programs. She stopped on some crazy arty French film simply because there was a shot of a hand covering the camera lens. The beautiful seaside settings kept her on it, even though she couldn't follow the story well, even with subtitles. She and House began heckling the disjointed, confusing film, chuckling at each other and settling into their old Friday night vibe. During a particularly dramatic scene, however, they fell silent, taking in the images and sadness of the film, instead of speaking. When the silence was broken, it was House mumbling something sarcastic, but Cuddy couldn't understand it because it was in French. He'd unexpectedly switched languages in his mind without realizing it, having gotten lost in the film for a moment.

And she wanted him so ferociously in that moment – with his guard down and his brilliance showing and his tee shirt skimming his skin – that she couldn't help it and she started to get up… started to twist herself to shimmy across the couch and straddle the man … but he looked up at her sudden movement and she couldn't read his eyes and she paused, awkwardly posed with one knee on the couch and her other leg on the ground, her arm bracing herself against the backrest.

House's eyebrows moved together slightly, his gaze sharpening on her. He was trying to articulate a question, but as his lips began to form the "w" for "what" or "where" or "why," Cuddy's fervor swept her up again and she bent down and met his mouth with hers. She wasn't tentative. She wasn't careful. She wasn't even suave as she stretched to reach him from her cumbersome perch. But it didn't matter because House's arms circled her almost immediately and pulled her down to fall against his body. During their kiss a month earlier, she'd reacted with stunned hesitance, and then resisted. He was completely the opposite and slid his open mouth along hers as if he'd been waiting for this, expecting it, and would now get to enjoy the reward for his patience.

Cuddy closed her mouth on his chin for a moment, then slowly tilted back up to his face, her bottom lip dragging along his stubble. She felt his hot breath on her cheek and felt his fingers slip under the back of her shirt and press into her skin. "I didn't plan this," she gasped against his mouth. He didn't respond, except to slide his fingers down her sides, over her ribs and waist and hips with such a perfect touch that she felt delirious. He nosed her head back and began kissing her neck, up toward her earlobe, which he sucked for a moment before kissing down the line of her jaw. "House," she managed to formulate.

"Hmm?" He kissed her lips again, opening her mouth with his tongue. She moaned into him and let her body relax further against his. She felt him pressing against her pelvis, but despite his obvious arousal he made no move to rush things. He just kept kissing her, holding her torso in his hands, moving a hand up to weave into her hair. He wasn't going to make a mistake again and scare her off. He would just enjoy whatever parts of her he was granted access to, in spite of already having her naked in his mind.

Cuddy, not privy to his thought process, was dying for him to touch her more. She finally just gave in and moved his hands herself from the bare skin of her waist to her breasts, not knowing that his resolve had been about to crumble anyway. He cupped them and ran his thumbs across the lace, skating over her nipples. Cuddy threw her head back, letting out a shaky breath, and pulled her tee shirt off herself. He looked at her, pushed up on her knees in front of him. He saw her lines of muscle weaving into delicious softness and couldn't take his eyes off of her. She tipped her face back down to look at his and couldn't help smiling at the somewhat idiotic expression of a lustful man – eyes glazed, mouth half open, breath shaking. Even the great and powerful House could be reduced to this, she laughed to herself.

He was still trying to be cautious, especially considering that none of this had been defined. It's not like she had moaned "Fuck me"… yet. So through a fog of desire he reminded himself to follow her lead. Kissing. That had definitely been approved. So he looked up at her face, curtained by dark hair that had been pulled from its elastic – Had he done that? – and reached for her mouth again with his own. He kept his hands on her breasts simply because he could not will them to move from this delightful spot. His tongue slipped along her lips then down her chin to her neck. The neck was okay, right? He couldn't think anymore. He was tasting the hollow just above where her collarbone dipped when she pulled down the cups of her bra and softness and lace was replaced with softness and skin beneath his fingers. He couldn't help but groan a little in approval of this course of action. He slid a hand behind her to fumble with the bra clasp and met no resistance. He nipped along her clavicle as the garment fell between them, but Cuddy's hands took each side of his head and guided him lower, until his tongue met her nipple and she was writhing in his lap.

Good God, they needed to have sex tonight or he thought he might die. But the question of that hanging in the air made it even hotter somehow. As little bits of resolve crumbled, as he got closer to his fantasy-come-true, he felt more and more turned on.

Cuddy felt his warm mouth on her breast, his stubble against her skin. She was craving him on more of her, wondering why he wasn't pushing his other hand into her pants by now. But she had already been so aggressive. She felt like she should chill out and see where he wanted to take this. So they idled there, his mouth all over her breasts, her chest, her neck, her face. She held his head and pulled gently at his hair and ground her hips against him. Their moans slowly became more pained than pleasured, and their gasps were authentic pleas for air to oxygenate their overwhelmed brains. It was ten minutes of the most painful pleasure either had ever experienced.

"Cuddy," he groaned finally, pressing his forehead to her chest.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, genuinely perplexed.

He looked up at her with a pained expression. "I want you," exploded from his mouth before he could even think it. "Is that… I mean…" He couldn't breathe. "Don't leave."

Cuddy smiled with relief, her chest heaving as she tried to keep conscious. "For Christ's sake, House… I'm not going anywhere. Take me."

The words had barely left her lips and he slammed her down onto the couch, on top of her immediately in an explosion of aggression he had kept at bay. She felt the weight of his body on her. Propped on one arm, he attacked every inch of her with such intensity that she was almost overcome the instant she felt his hand against her heat. She wriggled out of her pants as his stubble scratched over her breasts again, down her belly, to the paper-thin border of her panties. She felt the heat of his breath skim across her. "House… please," she gasped, trying to push her panties down herself.

He slid them down her thighs and she felt his lips on her. "God. Yes," she moaned. And she repeated it, again and again as he moved his mouth along her, learning what she wanted and giving her more in small doses. House listened to her sounds and felt that addictive sense of power over being the reason she was losing control. He teased her, taking her close and then altering his attention a little. Soon she couldn't take it anymore and was begging him to focus. "Please. God. Please don't stop, House." And then all she felt was his mouth and all she saw were stars and all she could think about were the waves of vibrations ransacking her body. Her leg muscles tightened around his torso and he held her ass as she bucked upwards into the pressure. He listened to her slurred, "ohmigods" turn into breathless "thank yous" as her orgasm receded and she sank into the couch. He laid his head on her stomach and her fingers absent-mindedly pulled at his hair. He kept running a hand up and down the length of her leg as he listened to her heart thudding.

"You know I might do the things you wanted at work more if you said 'please' and 'thank you' this much."

Cuddy laughed. "No you wouldn't."

"You're probably right," he mused. "Preparing timely and accurate budget reports doesn't give me an erection."

Just thinking about the idea of her arousal arousing him made Cuddy want more. She let her bare leg drop to the floor and pushed up onto her elbows. When House sat up a little in response to her stirring, she pushed him back against the couch and straddled him again.

"That's funny," she murmured looking down into his face. "Because I could swear there have been times we've been fighting about budget reports in my office and you've had one." She winked at him, then pulled his tee shirt up over his head. She ran her hands down his chest and hooked her fingers into his waistband.

"Why are you looking at my crotch when we're fighting about budget reports?" he asked. He leaned into her and sucked on her bottom lip for a moment.

"Why does fighting about budget reports make you hard?" She ran her hand over his jeans and began fumbling with the zipper.

"It's not the reports, it's the fighting," he said, struggling to control his breathing. "I like when you puff out your chest and move your lips a lot while you yell at me."

Cuddy smirked down at him, her hand now stroking him and causing him to lay his head back against the couch and close his eyes in bliss. "Hmmm. So if you already think about sex with me when we're at work," - she shifted in his lap a little - "I guess actually having sex with me right now won't change things professionally, huh?"

House smirked and opened one eye. "Seems logical."

"This is hasty and foolish," Cuddy warned.

"Never stopped me before."

She kissed him hard and their tongues mingled as she rose and sank down onto him, causing him to release a groan of primal origins. His hands slid up and down from her ribcage to her hips as she slowly rode him, relishing the feeling of him filling her. House felt her all around him and tasted her on his lips and couldn't think of witty remarks or even sexy nothings to whisper. Any blood left in his brain served only to help him moan approval for her every movement on top of him. Cuddy loved having him like this – overcome and dumb with lust.

"Is this what you wanted when you kissed me that night?" she teased, grinding against him.

He exhaled and smiled a little, meeting her eyes. "This is what I wanted when I met you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back, pressing her body against his so that their skin touched as much as possible. She held his head to her chest and he splayed his hands across her back. When she came again, he heard her moan with his ear pressed against her chest, he felt her shake in his arms, and he saw her fingernails scratch at his bicep. He didn't even wait until she was recovered because he was entering the selfish stage of lust where she was this irresistible source of his pleasure. With a spurt of effort he held her against him and pushed their bodies down to the floor, where Cuddy's hair spread across the rug and her legs hooked around his waist. He pushed into her with abandon, his hands pressing on her shoulders in a way that was both slightly painful and highly erotic. He had been her sexual plaything thus far, and now she was his as he just thrust into her with his mind only on how good it felt. He alternated between looking at her – swollen lips and hooded eyes – and looking away to try to make the whole encounter last as long as it could.

She wasn't thinking when she said it. It wasn't a ploy. She just had no inhibition left and as he pushed into her harder and faster she whimpered "Fuck me, House" at the ceiling and he was done for. He fell against her at that instant, their sweaty bodies pressed together as he moaned his release into her neck, his hands holding her hips as he did as she requested. Years of longing, fantasy, and calculated restraint were in that orgasm and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The burden of unfulfilled desire was eased and it almost made him giddy. He chuckled into her skin near the end.

"Something funny?" she asked, laughing at his behavior.

"If I'd known all I had to do was speak a little French to get in your pants, I would have done it years ago."

Cuddy's mouth fell open. She slapped his back. "You did that on purpose?" She twisted her neck to see his face. He looked… just perfect. Eyes closed, smile spread wide.

"Worked on a girl in high school in a very similar situation. Consider it an experiment in human sexual maturation."

"You're an ass."

House rolled onto his back and pulled her with him. He cupped her ass in his hands. "Oh, please. You knew what was going on the moment you came over here."

Cuddy perched her face on her hands, clasped together on his chest. House put a hand behind his head to look at her. "I knew it the moment you invited me, weeks ago."

He grinned, pushed a curl off her forehead. "Then why the post-kiss freak out?"

She bit her lip and averted her eyes. "That was different… It wasn't a move. You didn't plan it," she explained. "You kissed me like it's something we always do."

Their eyes met and lingered.

"That's a bad thing?" he finally asked.

Cuddy turned her head, lying on his chest. "It's a bigger thing… _Don't_ say 'That's what she said.'"

He smiled. "Maybe it's so big there's no use fighting it," he mused. "Maybe fighting it will make us miserable."

"You're already miserable," she commented.

"Not today," he answered. "On Fridays, I'm not miserable. Well, I was, then I wasn't, then I was again. I'm hoping to go back to 'not-miserable-on-Fridays' starting tonight." He tickled her back and she snuggled against him.

"Just Fridays, eh?" she teased. "I'm now filling in for the redhead?"

"On a probationary status, of course. We'll see how you do. We could add other days of the week starting, like, tomorrow."

Cuddy laughed. Then she paused, suddenly her thoughtful, fretful self again. She propped up on an elbow and looked at him cautiously. "I just want to know what this is. Are we just having sex?"

"We've never just been having sex," he answered immediately.

"Because we weren't having sex."

"And yet, we were doing _something_."

"What? Flirting? Teasing? Building up to having sex?"

He looked at her hard and tried to think of an accurate way to express his feelings about her. "Cuddy, we don't have to have sex ever again if you don't want." She looked shocked at this statement. "Don't get me wrong, my vote is for lots, lots more sex," he clarified. "But that's not what I want from you."

She swallowed hard, knowing they were starting to play a game neither of them was any good at. "Then what do you want from me?"

He cupped her anxious face and ran a thumb over her lips. "I just want you to come over. You don't have to do anything else. Just keep coming over."

She stared at him, nodded subtly. "I can do that. That's easy."

"So we'll just start there and figure it out as things get… harder."

She leaned down and kissed him lazily, their mouths slowly exploring each other. "That's what she said," she mumbled against his lips at the exact same time he said it.


End file.
